His Darkest Hour
by Courtney Confunded
Summary: Everything happens for a reason. Katie knows this. She also knows the spirit in her house is not something, but rather someone. It's only a matter of time before he cannot control himself, before he gets his way.


**A/N: **I feel like writing this down will sort of help me get the idea juices flowing. I thought of this the other night when I watched Paranormal Activity, and I can't help but think it helps if this movie scared the s*&$ out of you. (I wasn't really freaked out until the very, very, very end. But that't just me as a person.) The background: Anyone ever watched A Haunting on Discovery Channel? Well, when my sister and I did, we always liked to get into the spirits' minds and sort of make fun of it by saying what they would say. Of course, it was purely humorous just to make fun of the people and the show overall. Because we, as people, didn't really buy any of it. But anyways, this is the non-humorous way of getting inside the sprit's mind. So, Katie's boyfriend dies. He is murdered, but I don't go into a lot of detail. All we know is that he did some bad things in his past (remember the picture in the attic?), but he still did love her. Now, he believes he is being punished for those things, and is watching Katie and Micah. So, within, there is explanation to all of the events that occur overnight in the movie, and it's essentially told from the spirit's POV.

**Note: **I didn't give him a name. He's just 'he', so deal with it. I was considering giving him a name that means evil or something cheesy like that, but I just decided I shouldn't name him at all. He did have a name, but we'll just leave it alone for now.

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It must have been two in the morning when the phone rang. She trudged down the stairs; it didn't occur to her that he had not been in bed. "Hello?" Her voice was soft, but it couldn't quite mask the annoyance. Every word came out quietly from a voice that only held apathy. Her heartbeat quickened when they mentioned his name. It was racing at inhuman speeds when they used the word 'dead' in the same sentence. Now, she couldn't breathe. She didn't want to breathe. What was the point?

The location was not hard to find. Police vehicles and ambulances formed a wall around the entire left lane of the street. One cop met her outside the block, a sympathetic frown gracing his features. He saw the tears forming in her eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak, she brushed by him, jogging to mess within. The outline of a body, twisted and torn in ways she knew were not natural, had been drawn in the center. Blood puddles were located here and there - sickening, but it also made her heart beat faster. Just north of the remains was a stretcher parked outside an ambulance. A white cloth with a few dark red stains was covering what she knew would be him.

No one was watching. She took a chance and walked over to him, to see what he looked like; curiosity. Just at the sight of his face, she gasped.

For an instant, she didn't even believe it was him, and relief escaped her. The only indication, she noticed, was the dog tag he wore around his neck, the one with his name on it. They probably had his wallet, too, and his cell phone - how else would they have called her? She looked back at his face. His jaw was open wide, most likely from shock of something, and the bottom was unhinged with a few blood stains on the edges of his mouth. The entire right side of his face was basically missing, scars and rashes replacing the ivory skin.

As she unveiled the rest of the cloth, she also saw that his body was formed in the way the drawing had been. His right leg gave his body height, the way it was bended behind him. The knee was also in an unwanted position. His other leg was turned all the way around, facing the opposite direction. She almost couldn't bear to look. The worst part was that when she saw his body - his torn clothes, his bloody and bruised arms, the open wound right in the center of his abdomen - she realized he must have been dragged across the street for quite some time. Could that have been what killed him? Or was he already dead when it happened?

"I - I'm so sorry." The voice startled her to the point where she jumped and threw the cloth back over the body. The man that had approached her was tall and lanky, with short dark hair all over his face. He looked slightly awkward, but also sweet, with his sympathetic smile.

"Did you see it happen?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I came just after it happened." He frowned. "But I didn't do it. I came after the police did. I was right behind them and, well, it kind of blocked my path. I went to check it out when I saw him. How did you know him?"

A few more tears lingered in the corner of her eye. "We were, um, dating," she murmured. That's when she couldn't hold them back. Without thinking, she leaned into this kind man, crying into his shoulder, the shoulder she could barely reach. When she pulled away, she wiped her eyes and gazed up at him. "I'm really sorry about that."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm Micah, by the way." He outstretched his hand.

She forced a smile with all of the effort she had left. "Katie."

It had been a year since the two met. After eleven months of dating, she asked him to move in. Honestly, Katie had been afraid. Sometimes, she heard things - people walking up the stairs, doors opening and closing - when she was the only one around. It didn't get bad until she began to _feel _someone there. Someone or something. Micah instantly agreed. She warned him, but he didn't care.

When he first arrived, it seemed to lighten up. At worst, a light was turned on downstairs when neither of them had been there. But as the days went by, it started to come back, seemingly angrier this time.

Katie rolled her eyes at the camera Micah had bought, but as she watched the events of the nights, she was almost relieved to have it. Despite her negative words toward the camera over the course of the month, she truly wanted it there, she wanted to know what was happening to her, to _them_.

But somewhere, deep inside of her, she knew these unexplained events were caused by someone. Someone watching her, waiting. Maybe this someone had changed for the better, or maybe this someone was simply looking out for her the way he had been since she was barely twenty-one. How many times had he promised that he would always care for her? Too many to count, that much was for sure. Still, it was painful, not to mention frightening, to think he was still there, watching her while she slept, acting as if it was still his house too.

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Night 1

He was ashamed of himself. When he looked down, all he could see was a monster. This was not him, he was not like this. Why was he being punished? Surely, all of his actions from his past were forgiven when he met Katie - met her for _real_, that is. All the same, he cared about her. He _loved _her. Despite the lies the first three years that had torn them apart, he wanted to be with her, to spend the rest of his life by her side.

Then there was the other man. What had she called him? Oh, if only he had been paying attention. It didn't matter, he didn't care. He just wished he would go away. Now that he was living with her, it seemed as if Katie had forgotten.

How could she have forgotten his death? Seeing his body twisted up, seeing him so broken, so wrecked. How could she just move on? The worst part was that after nine months of dating the other man, a picture of the two of them replaced the one he took with Katie. The picture was almost identical, but with a different face embracing her.

That particular day, he had watched Michael (or Mick, or, or…) - _Micah_. He had watched Micah arrive with that stupid bulky camera. Curiosity peaked when the man entered with the electronic. A smile even appeared, if it were possible for his face to form a smile; he wasn't sure what his face looked like, probably ugly and demonic, the way he was meant to be. This camera was his chance, his chance to prove he was there, to get rid of this other man taking over his life.

He watched as Katie walked through the door, watched them as they messed around in the kitchen, but when they went upstairs, he didn't dare follow. He sat on the couch, in his usual spot. When she sat down, it was directly across from him on the long piece of furniture, the way it had been once upon a time. He could always see her beautiful face, see her features clearly. It didn't matter that she couldn't see him - she would be afraid, and he couldn't bear to see her afraid of him.

He stood up, studying the chandelier in the living room before slowly walking up the stairs. It didn't make a lot of noise, only when he wanted it to, but his steps were still large and typically loud. That made being sneaky much harder than for most people. On the other hand, he was never seen - one advantage of the supposed afterlife.

Could it even be called an afterlife? This was hell! It was not the hell people read about. No, this was hell on earth. He was forced to stalk this girl with a new cover, a cover so hideous that he couldn't even bear to believe it was him. But he loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone, and he would fight for her with everything he had. This Micah had no business in _his _house.

Katie slept gracefully. Her breathing was even and calm, despite her knowing that something was watching her. She seemed to sleep so easily, it amazed him. Micah moved around a bit, but even he had to admit it was not unlike himself. The camera was sitting on the dresser on the opposite side of the room, watching them more than he did. He smirked, something he didn't even know he could do any longer. His hand reached out, though he was far away from her, and he squeezed his eyes shut, imagining himself lying next to her. He wanted to scream, but he didn't think he had it in him. He didn't dare try, either. Instead, he backed up, running into the door. As it moved, he caught it, doing his best to return it to its normal position.

Neither of them moved at all, thankfully, as he was able to leave silently. By morning, he could hear Micah and Katie, stunned by the movement of the door. He didn't care. They were afraid, afraid of him, and that was the only thing he could even think about; the only thing he would ever be able to think about.

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